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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29495679">Thy Vows Are All Broken</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yanex/pseuds/Yanex'>Yanex</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>When We Two Parted (to sever for years) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hamilton - Miranda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alexander Hamilton Being Alexander Hamilton, Alexander Hamilton cheats, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, Infidelity, M/M, Politics, Poor life choices are just his usual vibe, Thomas Jefferson Needs A Hug, Thomas Jefferson has anxiety, still not a tag WHY</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:48:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,384</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29495679</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yanex/pseuds/Yanex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas was so gone for that man that he scared himself with the intensity of his helpless feelings, with the way those excesses which hadn’t really belonged to his personality before now thrived and shone through his reserved demeanour, brought forth violently by Alexander’s overbearing self ever since the day they met, by Alexander with his snarky remarks and omniscient attitude and gentle eyes and reverent hands. Thomas couldn’t bear to lose him over such an idiotic thing, over his own stupidity, and oh how he wanted to just fix it, why couldn’t Thomas manage to be a statesman and a father and a partner at the same time like a functioning person?<br/>(Why couldn’t he stop doubting his Alexander’s love for him at every turn, why couldn’t he stop feeling hurt and overwhelmed by Alexander’s somehow inconstant attentions, why couldn’t he-)</p><p> </p><p>Or where Thomas is capable of taking a break when he needs it and he decides to make it up to Alex for having been absent- enter Alexander being himself and ruining all sorts of plans.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson, John Adams &amp; Thomas Jefferson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>When We Two Parted (to sever for years) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2091624</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Thy Vows Are All Broken</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaosandgunpowder/gifts">Chaosandgunpowder</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Some asked in the last work to see the rest of this verse and y’all’s comments are absolutely to blame for what is gonna happen- you’ll see the rest of the verse alright, I’ve unfortunately planned it out and boy, are you in for a long ride.<br/>(It’ll be worth it.<br/>Maybe.)<br/>So, thank you so much to everyone that left kudos and commented on When we two parted, y’all gave me the strength to do this.<br/>Special thanks to Chaosandgunpowder, this one’s too for you because your multiple comments literally gave me so much euphoria and so many moments of not-writer's-block to write more and more and you’re fucking wonderful and your works are amazing and totally give me life and I’m almost sorry this thing came out of it.<br/>For timeline purposes this is set mostly before When we two parted (if you haven’t read that I think this is still kinda understandable, but if you go check the first installment real quick it’s probably more clear).<br/>Enjoy, everyone!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thomas didn’t need it, that was the problem. </p><p>Even only the sheer fact that he wasn’t really geared to think about it made the situation all the more unbearable. Yes, thanks to his late father-in-law’s poor choices, and a few ones of his own too, he had dealt with debt for a decade or so and it had been stressful and a bit terrifying, but in the end he didn’t really <em> need </em> money- especially not now that the self-proclaimed money guru of their time, with his precious banks and paper dollars, had put his jittery little hands on his finances and decided they needed some straightening. </p><p>Thomas didn’t need money. He had a giant mansion down in Virginia, a nice apartment he barely even used anymore, he sent his daughters to the best boarding school near Philadelphia and he could afford designer suits that made Alex choke in envy and arousal, giving Thomas <em> plenty </em> of satisfaction when he tried to tear them off him the first chance he got, <em> so that I have to stop looking at such a luxurious fabric coloured so ghastly and obnoxiously, have you ever even </em> heard <em> of the word fashion, honestly the only time you look good is when you’re without clothes at all-  </em></p><p>So no, Thomas didn’t need money. Inheritances, investments, and a good chunk of Martha’s hefty dowry would keep him and the girls in comfort for a lifetime or two. Thomas could really just go to Monticello, spend his days planting the most strange forms of life in his garden, stroll in the grounds and sit quietly in the shade. He could write a philosophy blog, or finally get around to do that commentary of Locke’s Human Understanding he had been meaning to write down for <em> years </em>, maybe even publish it. He could actually go on vacation in France so that Gilbert would stop whining to him on the phone that he was always the one having to travel across the world to see a friend- maybe even see Germany, visit the South of Italy. He could hole himself up in one of the rooms, take out his violin to practice the whole morning, and maybe he would finally get Mozart’s balzato straight with more study hours under his belt. </p><p>It was in days like this one that Thomas asked himself <em> why the fuck he didn’t do that. </em> He sank his hands shaking with stress and fatigue into his hair, frustration coursing through him so completely he felt like the slightest external sensation would overwhelm him and dump him straight into a panic attack. <em> Just great. </em></p><p>Thomas hated his job sometimes. Being the Secretary of State was just so frustrating- he had been perfectly aware of it, of course, that’s why he had taken so long to accept Washington’s offer, but he didn’t think it would be such a <em> pain</em>. Not only was it a huge responsibility, and Thomas could admit to himself that he lacked a natural disposition that lended itself to politics, but apparently his dedication and love for this country didn’t count in the slightest as his opinions were so often discarded in favour of Alexander’s input. Whenever Alex spoke on some matter, Thomas had to fight tooth and nail even just to have Washington realise that no, Alex’s word wasn’t the height of wisdom, yes, other options and valid opinions were of this world and should be considered just as seriously since during the Constitutional Convention they had decided to protect <em> democracy </em> and <em> not </em>Hamiltonianism.</p><p>And really, Thomas understood why Washington admired Alex so much, he did. A mind as effortlessly brilliant, sometimes downright <em> geniusly, </em> his utter dedication to his work were hard to find, and Thomas would be lying if he said he hadn’t been charmed by it before even <em> noticing </em>everything else that made Alexander Hamilton the annoyingly lovable creature he was. </p><p>It was just that sometimes- <em> oftentimes- </em> Alex was so <em> wrong, </em> so absorbed by <em> his </em>agendas, that he forgot the bigger picture, he forgot that he didn’t hold the highest and most perfect form of truth in his hands. </p><p>And it was in cases like this that Thomas just wanted to smack Washington upside the head for rejecting his first proposal with little more than a second glance, for telling him so <em> condescendingly </em> that he could have another chance at illustrating it, <em> and Mr Secretary, why don’t you arrange a private meeting and talk this over with Secretary Hamilton and listen to some of his opinions- </em></p><p>The bastard knew perfectly well that he had to <em> listen to his opinions </em> all fucking day and that <em> no, politically-wise the matters we aren’t actively fighting each other on could be counted on the hands of a war veteran that lost both arms, thank you very much.  </em></p><p>The problem, the real problem, was that as much as Thomas didn’t need this job, he cared too much for their country- and, tragically, even after two years <em> (two years, it had already been two years, it had only been two </em> wonderful <em> years-) </em> he still craved Washington’s approval. Not like Alex did, sure, the extent of his efforts to keep him satisfied and with a clean reputation was barely the minimum to keep the administration going, he would never dream of actually <em>losing </em> sleep to get the President out of sticky situations- but <em> because </em> of Alex Thomas wanted to prove George Washington that he was useful and devoted to their nation too, no matter how he seemed to have forgotten it in recent years, that he was <em> worthy </em>of the President’s favourite over-caffeinated little gremlin. </p><p>Speaking of which, if said gremlin wasn’t such a British-loving douche, Thomas wouldn’t have found himself in this predicament. The proposal would have been approved because <em> no one </em> wanted another English hegemony over the States, Thomas knew it would have passed in a heartbeat, and instead of being still in his office panicking over wording and structural details of little importance- such as <em> content of the proposal, and how much can I ask for, how can I get this </em>through- Thomas could be lounging at home, reading or fucking around with his violin as Alex worked furiously on his laptop somewhere near. </p><p>But unfortunately Alex <em> was </em> a British-loving little shit <em> , </em> and in the last cabinet meeting he demonstrated it <em> amply. </em> Thomas remembered the utter helplessness he had felt as he illustrated his carefully crafted proposal, with Randolph nodding along idly, Knox wearing a slight encouraging smile on his face and shrouded in that almost grandfatherly air of his that painfully reminded Thomas of Ben in his last years, Alex unsurprisingly screaming at him how <em> wrong </em> and <em> damaging </em>it would be for the country to pass such a motion, and Washington watching them in high amusement, that half smile Thomas had always wanted to wipe right off his face appearing without a fail whenever him or Alex got wounded up and answered the other’s attacks, often slipping into childish quarrelling that had Randolph bury his face in his hands in despair. </p><p>For some reason Washington <em> enjoyed </em> seeing them fight, and Thomas always suspected he was just waiting for the moment Alex would slap him in the face and told him to fuck off- Thomas <em> knew </em> Washington wanted <em> more </em>for his beloved aide than a widower with two teenage kids and beliefs that couldn’t be more antithetical to his. </p><p>Thomas looked at the glaring light of his laptop screen, the file he was supposedly rewriting his proposal on pitifully filled with barely half a page of words. </p><p>
  <em> And as it is extremely likely for a monarchy still governed by a tyrant who denied us our most basic citizienly rights such as a legislature free of external influence, able to deliberate and work without asking for consent from anyone; such as living free of swarms of royal emissaries occupying brand new unnecessary and costly offices whose only want is to eat out our people’s substance and ruin our lives- a tyrant in everything but name, a king so petty he decided to wage war against his biggest, most thriving and proficient colonies on a matter of principle for our staunch and right refusal to pay our taxes in fear of the same tyranny we were later subjected to, a king so incapable he passed motions such as the Stamp Act and actually believed we would pay that much for an idiotic stamp to put on all official documents, showing almost deliberate dullness of mind and making even the most devoted English subjects worry about the negative powers of inbreeding- </em>
</p><p>Oh no, Thomas’ mighty irritation against England and the lovely King really didn’t help when he needed to show the most impeccable diplomatic skills he could offer to the nation, but he <em> had </em> accepted the risk of being beheaded when he wrote the Declaration and signed it, he <em> had </em>been treated awfully by the English- by that useless idiot George himself- even after the armistice, and poor John too, how can you mistreat a person as lovely and honest as John Adams?</p><p>Thomas wanted nothing more than to let his head fall on the desk at gravity’s convenience. It would hurt like a bitch, sure, but not as much as the way his very <em> brain </em> was basically <em> melting </em> in exhaustion- maybe his brain cells were liquefying under the stress, maybe they were all planning a mass suicide and he couldn’t wait until they <em> did- </em></p><p>He was too tired for this shit. </p><p>He settled for resting his forehead on the warm desk- it was supposed to be <em> cold, </em>it’s wood and metal, not wool for Christ’s sake- and breathed in deeply. </p><p>Thomas looked up again at his aborted speech incipit. Weak and overused rhetorics would <em> not </em>impress Washington enough to grant a pass. But… how to change them, what could he stress on-</p><p>Thomas checked the hour, surprised when he noticed it was already mid-afternoon. </p><p>In a flash, he came to the conclusion that he wouldn’t be able to get any more work done in these conditions, and he rose from his swivel chair, gripping the soft leather top of it to fight low blood pressure. Why did the world decide they needed a plan on English-American trade relationship in the middle of <em> August </em> he didn’t know, but oh was he looking forward to get it finished now that the promised leave hanged just an inch from his reach- <em> and a week with Alex alone, just the two of them in the solitude of Monticello, God he couldn’t wait to finally have his undivided attention- </em></p><p>Thomas took his jacket from where he threw it hours ago as the heat started to get <em> unbearable </em> and he quickly straightened his things. He wouldn’t bring <em> anything </em>at home, no sir, no work until the next day. </p><p>He stormed out of his office, almost slamming the door with all the repressed energy resulted from hours of frustrated thinking, and heard a familiar voice shouting. </p><p>“Mr Jefferson! Is everything alright?”</p><p>He turned and saw his secretary half on his feet, looking at him with surprise written all over his face. Thomas straightened himself quickly, trying to give a more presentable image- sure ruined by the embarrassing frizziness of his hair, another delightful gift of the stifling hot which made his poor Virginian body break into heavy sweat, and didn’t he wish to be as unphased by the heat as Alex- and smiling at the man. </p><p>“Yes Meriwether, don’t you worry. I am just heading home for the day.” He suddenly remembered that unfortunately the English-American trade relation wasn’t the only pressing matter on the table these days, and for some reason people often thought that going to <em>him </em>first would have their problems solved. How there could be individuals stupid enough to think that he had any sway on Alexander Hamilton with anything work-related, or that he wanted to play the magnanimous intermediate to always put in a good word for someone to John Adams he would never understand. “No one asked to see me yet, right?”</p><p>Meriwether pretended to look searchingly at his agenda for a second before smiling impishly up at him. </p><p>“Secretary Knox asked for your opinion on his proposal for the canadian militia.”<br/>Thomas’ eyes widened almost comically, marveling at the surreal parallel dimension he must be living in. Henry Knox was a nice fellow, but Thomas really should talk to Washington about the problems of putting together elderly age, decaying memory and chaotic behaviour in the same equation. </p><p>Not that Washington would listen to him, not within this geological era- <em> and whatever had he done to the man in the past four years to </em> always <em> be dismissed with little more than a glance after the man </em> himself <em> asked him to become a part of his cabinet he’d never know, he had even stopped to </em> wonder, <em> it just </em>was- it may have been better to drop some heavy hints about it in casual conversation with Alex-</p><p>“<em>Again?” </em> <em><br/></em>Meriwether only resumed tapping quickly on his keyboard, a slight smirk on his face.</p><p>“I told him you would send him an email. And oh!” his face arranged into a mock-surprised expression, almost grotesque with exaggeration- <em> and wasn’t Meriwether lucky that Thomas enjoyed his over the top antics, instead of being on the verge of getting fired every day if he had been a little more strict and austere like John?- </em> as he turned the screen toward Thomas “Look at that, you just sent him one. It looks suspiciously like the last three messages you sent him on the matter. I truly wonder why.”<br/>Thomas chuckled, part of his bad mood already bleeding out at his secretary’s pleasantness. The kid would go far, that was for sure.</p><p>“I wonder too. Have a nice day, Mr Lewis.”</p><p>Come to think of it, he should give him a week of vacation too- after all he had been talking about travelling west with his boyfriend for months...<br/>“You too Mr Jefferson, regards to the husband.”</p><p>...Or maybe not.<br/>Thomas painfully rolled his eyes and shook his head as he started to make his way down the corridor, letting his hair cover his suddenly flaming cheeks.</p><p>Meriwether Lewis was a spirited man with sometimes a little too much sass. Thomas would trade him for no one, doesn’t matter how many dignitaries he had to reassure that no, the Secretary of State’s personal secretary did <em> not </em>insult anyone and oh, what a beautiful collier is tied at your wife’s neck, majestic manufacture, is it Italian jewellery?</p><p>He also liked to jest on the most ridiculous things- but <em> damn, </em> wasn’t Thomas sometimes just feverish and out of his mind enough to <em> wish </em> that the joke had been a little more true and a little less teasing. </p><p>What could he say, he had been happily married with children on the way before he even reached twenty-five. A gold band around his finger didn’t scare him half as much as it frightened his emotionally-constipated partner. </p><p>Not that anyone had to know. Much less Meriwether Lewis- and Thomas was still in awe at how there could exist misfits foolish enough to call their son <em> Meriwether, </em> a blasted <em> surname, </em> what was wrong with them, why not simple, elegant Christian names like Martha and Mary and <em> Lucy- </em></p><p>Thomas let his hands sink into his pockets, reassuring himself the car’s keys were indeed there. He debated whether he should inform the President of his untimely departure- and ha, wouldn’t Washington like it if it was a bit more <em> metaphorical? </em> In a second he would put Randolph in Thomas’ place and have Alexander get back with his heroic ex who, look at that, had also been Washington’s aide during the war while useless Thomas was playing diplomat or the mourning widower, how <em> disgraceful- </em> but he really, really didn’t want to <em> see </em>him, not when he was so stressed and frayed around the edges.</p><p>Thomas didn’t necessarily <em> thrive </em>under pressure, especially social relationships-wise, and if he was forced to witness the man’s condescending dismissal he would react accordingly and the sliver of hope at seeing his proposal get through would be crushed so thoroughly that it’d seem like it never existed in the first place. </p><p>“Thomas!” He turned his head, grateful for the distraction from his musings, smiling tiredly as a familiar chubby man approached him, already talking a mile a minute “My man, I had been looking for you- I need your precious brains to work out a thing for me, so, you know that motion Schuyler has been lobbying for-“</p><p>“John” he put both hands on his friend’s shoulders, their height difference as comical as it had been when they met almost twenty years before “Can we talk about this tomorrow?”</p><p>John Adams’ face when he was taken aback had always that dash of deer-in-the-headlights that made it ever so amusing, the man’s emotions always <em> clear </em> and visible and plainly written all over his features. For fuck’s sake, even Alex was at least partially able to keep on a poker face, when was John going to learn that being so <em> open </em>and rash was the exact reason he got in trouble at least half the time?</p><p>“Sure. Is everything alright?”</p><p>Thomas averted his eyes for a second, frowning slightly. Yes, he was stressed, but as soon as the presentation was done everything would be alright, wouldn’t it? Washington could accept or reject his proposal- but it was just work in the end, it’s not like he was having a particularly hard time with his daughters or he’d been fighting with Alexander.</p><p>The fact that his work impacted directly on millions of citizens who expected him to represent their needs and interests and to do right by them was completely inconsequential. </p><p>“Yeah yeah, don’t worry about me.”</p><p>John looked at him with searching eyes, concern spelled out unabashedly in his furrowing brows and forehead just like it did when John Quincy answered his questions with monosyllables, just before he’d up his game, get that displeased look on his round face and <em> am I such a bad father that I don’t deserve to know how my own son is doing, John?  </em></p><p>Thomas sometimes wished the Adamses didn’t still see his barely-out-of-his-teens self, awkward and shy among the old giants populating the second Continental Congress, boasting experience and riches, unwilling to let their gaze even <em> linger </em> over Thomas, let alone write him off as anything more than the too young awkward kid from Virginia. Thank fuck Ben and John had taken an interest in him then, or getting where he was would have been <em> so </em> much more difficult without the authorship of the Declaration of Indipendence under his belt. </p><p>“You heading out?”</p><p>Thomas sighed, the feel of fabric and another’s body heat seeping through the clothes into his hands making him feel like breathing was too hard a task to accomplish, like he was being crowded- </p><p>He let his hands fall, rubbing his face once before nodding briefly. </p><p>“Yeah I’m just… exhausted.”</p><p>John smiled at him comfortingly, patting his arm lightly, ignoring all of Thomas’ nerve ends unpleasantly- and shit, this was starting to look like the beginning of an attack, why couldn’t he live in <em> peace </em>?</p><p>“Nothing a good night’s sleep and a bit of attention from your man can’t solve. Go, I’m telling Washington why you aren’t slogging at your desk.”</p><p>“Thanks John.” Thomas felt relief wash over him despite his increasingly overwhelmed state- he didn’t know if John <em> knew </em> that he was in no condition to face the President or he was just being polite, but <em> thank God. </em>“About that, do you have any idea where Alexander is?”</p><p>Maybe if he wasn’t too busy Alex could help, he could soothe his head and treacherous body and make him feel better because he had some kind of magic powers- or, most probably, Thomas has been so thoroughly bewitched that even Alexander’s mere presence could make everything a little brighter. </p><p>The older man scoffed, distastate evident in the arrogant downturn of his lips. Thomas had always found the utmost amusement seeing how they had struggled to take leadership over the Federalist Party, and when Alex had won over the majority of the other derangeds who preferred the monarchist faction over James’- and Thomas’, even though he tried not to meddle as much as he could because parties were murky business and he really didn’t want anything to do with them- the insults between the two had just turned bitterer and more colourful. Thomas had completely stopped trying to play peacemaker between the two after seeing them interact for the first time- and yes, that meant he couldn’t invite John and Abigail for a chill night at his with his partner, but the consequences of trying to put John Adams and Alexander Hamilton in a relaxed setting would be disastrous and probably ruin everyone’s evening as well as the subsequent week of extreme irritation towards the other that would get described most artfully and completely to Thomas and Abigail, so it didn’t really matter. </p><p>“In his office, I believe, preparing his next terrorist mass-email to the rest of the office lamenting our inefficiency. Not two hours ago he was ambushing me by trying to illustrate with as many words as a minute can bear have spoken why I should endorse Pinckney in the next elections instead of running myself,of all things.”</p><p>Thomas quirked an eyebrow amusedly. Couldn’t say he was surprised, really. </p><p>“Well, I’ll just leave him to that then. Seems like he’s in a mood.”</p><p>So no, there would be no one to help him brave the rest of the afternoon and the attack he felt building deep in his chest, he’d have to wait a few more hours still to see Alex, but really, what’s new-</p><p>“You tell me, man, I will never understand how you even tolerate him, let alone <em> like </em> him.” It was only proof of his still tight self control if he didn’t snort in John’s face when he scrunched up his nose in distaste, like the mere notion of anyone liking Hamilton was preposterous, but if it was his friend it simply defied logic “Anyway, go home and <em> rest. </em>Whatever’s keeping you awake isn’t worth your health and sanity.”</p><p>Thomas smiled bitterly. Maybe some kind of twisted form of karma did exist after all. This was the same man that egged him on for <em> days </em> to write the Declaration, and when he acquiesced but inspiration wouldn't come proceeded to yell at him that he was an uninspired kid and a disgrace, that maybe everyone else was right in saying he was too young after all-</p><p>Not that he had meant it, of course, Thomas had heard his ashamed apologies for years after that, and he had just been trying to put pressure on him and have him fucking fill the pages with ideas and flowing passages to illustrate their grievances- but he wondered sometimes, if he still looked like that in everyone’s eyes, uninspired and unfit for the task. </p><p>Certainly would explain Washington’s lovely behaviour. </p><p>“It kind of is.” Thomas said softly as John was already walking away, probably headed to the President’s office. He couldn’t have even heard Thomas, but that wasn’t the point. There was nothing to do about that, it’s not like it mattered anyway, not like it mattered that Thomas, after <em> years </em> of public service, still felt the almost unbearable weight of responsibility on his shoulders, that he still dreamed of locking himself up in Monticello with his books and his music and his plants, and <em> fuck everything else, really, he didn’t need to do this, he didn’t need to subject himself to this unbearable pressure, why was he doing this again? </em></p><p>He sank his hands into his pockets, balling them into fists to keep them from shaking, exhaustion and anxiety he had been more or less successfully trying to keep down hitting him like a moving train as he strode down the hallway with his back pinstraight and head held high. The edges of his vision had already began to blur, and he really hoped his calm exterior was convincing enough because he positively felt like he could <em> faint </em>from lack of air, but he wasn’t about to start hyperventilating in the middle of the Federal Hall, not when in approximately twenty minutes he could be safe under the covers of his bed and let it all out privately, sheets up past his ears and an empty room to listen to his hysterical sobs as he slowly wound down. </p><p>But until then, he <em> could </em> calm himself, and he was <em> absolutely going to do that.  </em></p><p>Thomas threw a distracted smile at the elderly secretary down in reception fanning herself idly with an empty envelope, and he tried not to make too much noise when he let out a shaky sigh of relief as soon as the doors shut firmly behind him, the stifling humid head of August in Philadelphia sticking to his skin immediately.</p><p>He automatically took a step toward the parking lot where he’d left his car at every morning to work for the past five years- <em> holy shit, he had been in this absolutely boring city for </em> five years <em> already, no wonder Benjamin had spent so much time of his life abroad, how could this gloominess even try to compare with the quiet down in Piedmont- </em>before realising that he couldn’t really take the car since Alex would need it to come home later and anyway, Thomas didn’t really feel focused enough to drive and not end up in a bloody pulp when he inevitably collided with a wall or whatever else, so it was just as well.</p><p>He took out his phone and shot a message to Alexander to warn him he was heading home before he realised Thomas was missing from his office two hours down the line and started to worry. </p><p>He took a steadying breath, trying to calm his nerves, and headed for the underground station, barely seeing what was near him, the nervous energy ebbing out from where he’d banished it in the back of his head, making him space out, a great blank taking over his mind, making him lose seconds, whole minutes of his life. Sometimes it had been bad enough that he had lost <em> hours </em> and Thomas <em> hated it </em>- couldn’t he be a little more like the rest of his fellow politicians, less anxious and more sure of themselves, maybe foolish enough to think their sheer will and charm would get them far? </p><p>Couldn’t he be more like Alex, focused only on preparing for the next outrageously big step when he had yet to fully complete the one before it, exquisitely eloquent with the spoken word as well as the written one, instead of the way Thomas’ breath would come unevenly and for some reason his head began to spin and cloud? Couldn’t Thomas just drop the whole anxiety act <em> (not an act, Thomas knows it, but what if-) </em>and learn to project his voice in the right way when he spoke to an audience-</p><p>At some point he realised he was a station away from their apartment, that the car he was in was absolutely packed, and that the stench of sweat and humanity was just on the wrong side of unbearable.</p><p>He almost smiled thinking of the idiotic quips Alexander would undoubtedly make about it were he present, that instinct to reject immediately everything plebeian to reassure himself that wasn’t his life anymore, that he wasn’t poor or hungry anymore kicking in every single time they rode the subway or they strode near a dollar store.</p><p>Shit, he <em> missed </em>Alex. There was nothing he wanted more than to embrace him and try to melt into his body, nothing more than to bury his hands in his red hair and kiss him to within an inch of his life, like he hadn’t done in-</p><p>In <em> weeks. </em> Jesus, why had he let it go this far? Why couldn’t he remember the last time they kissed instead of merely sharing a peck when the other came home- when <em> Thomas </em> came home <em> , </em> he had been getting back so late, or had Alex been compensating and tried to leave work earlier? Had he noticed that Thomas was so out of it that he didn’t even realise he had been lacking as a partner?<br/>He was such a hypocrite, after he had been trying- and surprisingly, even succeeding from time to time- to condition Alex into working human hours and limiting the ridiculous amount he did at home, and then Thomas had a particularly hard and stressing month and he went and did <em> exactly </em> the thing he’d been preaching against and he felt <em> so ashamed-  </em></p><p>He absently rose from his seat and began making his way out of the subway, work bag slung over his shoulder and hands deep in his pockets.</p><p>Why hadn’t Alex said a thing though? Hadn’t they passed the point of keeping stuff from each other?</p><p>Maybe Thomas had really gotten it all wrong. Maybe the key that burned in his hand hadn’t meant a thing, maybe Alex gave access to his house to every long-standing fuck of his, maybe he let all of them in his house and tried to make them dinner, promptly got distracted until he sensed the smell of burning food and started cussing like a sailor, maybe he spent hours with an idle hand in all of their hair with their heads on his lap as he read, maybe he told all of them they were his <em> anges, </em> maybe he whispered on all of their lips that beautiful <em> je t’aime </em> that made Thomas’ heart stutter <em> every time- </em></p><p>No, that wasn’t true, Alex loved him, they were in a <em> committed relationship </em> for Christ’s sake, he should really stop doubting Alexander’s devotion for him, of course he wasn’t a fling, of course there was no one else, they’d been exclusive for <em> years- </em></p><p>But what if it wasn’t clear? After all it’s not like they have ever explicitly <em> defined </em> what they are to each other, not like they had consciously started <em> dating, </em> not like they had ever labeled what this overwhelming thing between them was beyond agreeing that they were together, this thing big enough that it reminded Thomas of his previous marriage, yet so fundamentally <em> different- </em></p><p>Thomas breathed in deeply trying to cut off the spiralling before it got bad enough he couldn’t shake himself out of it, and made an effort to notice the feel of the scorching sun on his skin. He would just have to… apologize. Yes, it was <em> Hamilton </em> he was dealing with, and sure as hell Alexander must be a little more than pissed with him, so there was no way it would be as simple as that, but he could do it and start from there. Thomas could put his pride aside and apologize because this relationship was worth every difficulty and herculean effort he had to push through to keep it, because it was almost <em> too good to be true, </em> in that beautifully flawed manner of theirs, because Thomas had woken up some days to a snoring redhead sprawled all over him obnoxiously and the only thing he had been able to think has been <em> yes, perfect-  </em></p><p>Thomas was so gone for that man that he scared himself with the intensity of his helpless feelings, with the way those excesses which hadn’t really belonged to his personality before now thrived and shone through his reserved demeanour, brought forth violently by Alexander’s overbearing self ever since the day they met, by Alexander with his snarky remarks and omniscient attitude and gentle eyes and reverent hands. Thomas couldn’t bear to lose him over such an idiotic thing, <em> over his own stupidity, </em> and oh how he wanted to just <em> fix </em>it, why couldn’t Thomas manage to be a statesman and a father and a partner at the same time like a functioning person?</p><p>(<em>Why couldn’t he stop doubting his Alexander’s love for him at every turn, why couldn’t he stop feeling hurt and overwhelmed by Alexander’s somehow inconstant attentions, why couldn’t he-) </em></p><p>He really should apologize; maybe he could set up a nice dinner, something a bit more refined than usual- after all Alex didn’t have impending deadlines at the moment and he should be able to give him a whole night, and Thomas <em> couldn’t wait </em>to try and make amends for all the evenings he cut short any attempt on Alexander’s side to start a conversation because he was too damn exhausted. </p><p>It wouldn’t be anything over the top, of course, not when Alex was involved. Thomas had come to the conclusion a while ago, complicit some confessions about his partner’s less than stellar childhood, that even though obviously expensive things lavished upon him made him uncomfortable for a number of reasons, he very much relished being treated, being spoilt, in every way a person can be. </p><p>Thomas didn’t mind satisfying that need of his from time to time, not at all. And if even he had initially promised himself he would do it sparingly just for it turning out to be a more frequent occurrence than he would ever admit, who could blame him? Alex <em> did </em> feel better afterward, Thomas saw it in the way he lost that vaguely haunted look he wore under his stubborn determination and the hard lines of his face seemed to go slacker, the way he was able to chill a little more- and wasn’t it still something compared to the obsessive overthinking and refusal to even acknowledge the situation that giving him the number and address of a psychiatrist to unpack that trauma along with all the others would lead to?</p><p>So Thomas could set up something quiet with a twist of romantic- he knew Alex would enjoy it as much as him, and hide it with biting remarks about Thomas’ sappiness even as his eyes would twinkle like fucking jewels as he reached over the table to take his hand- and <em> shit, </em> Thomas was <em> absolutely disgusting </em> and he should absolutely be ashamed and read less romance, but fucking hell, Alexander was extraordinary and he hadn’t felt this way in more than a decade- and well, with Martha it had been different, <em> but he wasn’t going to think about Martha now that he was finally feeling a little more grounded, he wasn’t going to think about her at all </em> - he was allowed his sickeningly poetic and sugary metaphors- <em> that was actually a similitude but he wasn’t in the right state to think in depth about the way the standard language misused figures of speech and narratological categories so he really was going to make his pedantic hell of a mind </em>shut up. </p><p>Who knows, if he managed to calm down enough he may work up the courage to unearth the harness he’d bought two months prior and had been too shy to wear around Alexander. Or maybe take out his good old fishnet stockings, Alex <em> loved </em> how he looked with that stuff hugging every inch of his legs on- and hey, he wasn’t about to deny he couldn’t wait to make up for all the times Alex tried to start something as soon as they were in bed and he told him no, too. He never illuded himself about how much he didn’t mind indulging <em> that particular </em> constant need of his- because <em> it was </em>a need for Alexander, it was written all over the way that absolutely impossible man used sex as an outlet to blow off physical and emotional steam, with a desperation and singlemindedness that on anyone else would have looked worrying- not when Thomas was absolutely addicted to Alex’s kisses and fervent touches.</p><p>He had a feeling that in a few hours he <em> definitely </em>wouldn’t mind indulging him.</p><p>Thomas breathed in again, letting the hot air flood in and fill his lungs, feeling less overwhelmed by the second.</p><p>Nothing like actually figuring out what that phantom thought in the back of his head weighing him down like a ball of lead actually <em> was </em>to keep anxiety at bait.</p><p>Thomas pushed open the door to their building, making his way up the stairs quickly, and breathing came truly easier the more he got close to their apartment.</p><p>He was about to take the key out of his pocket when he realised-</p><p>Oh. How… peculiar. </p><p>Why… why was the door open?</p><p>Thomas stepped inside carefully, the perfect stillness of the room ruined by the faint sounds coming from the end of the corridor, his mind already struggling to find an answer to the surreal situation- it could be a buglar, or someone paid to try and find something to blackmail Thomas or Alex or <em> both </em>with, because who wouldn’t jump at the chance of taking them out of power, or anything fucking else- and suddenly Thomas’ newfound calmness all but dissipated as he tensed up in less than a second. </p><p>He took out his phone, ready to dial the emergency number because <em>no one </em>should be home by this hour- because the girls never came to Alex’s house if it wasn’t Thomas bringing them here, but even if they had suddenly decided to change habitudes Polly had been on vacation with Abigail and the Adams kids for two weeks and Patsy should have been at that seminar, not to mention that she was boarding for Italy the next day so she should have been busy packing, and the idea of Alexander being home any earlier than six was simply <em>ridiculous, </em>but then, wasn’t he spitting fire in his office anyway?-  and walked lightly as he made his way deeper inside the house, until he was a few paces from his and Alexander’s bedroom and he had to stop for a second because those were <em>coupling noises </em>and <em>what the absolute fuck?</em></p><p>The grunts and moans filled his ears and Thomas felt blood rise to his ears as the surprise wore off, a woman’s whimpering ringing in the air following every rough thrust punctuated by the familiar sound of the headboard hitting the wall rhythmically- <em> and it was almost funny how many times he had heard that sound from </em> much <em> closer to that wall, but never ever thought he’d have to hear it from a distance, really </em> - and he tried to grapple with the fact that there was someone having sex in his bedroom and he didn’t even know <em> who </em> that was, because the only one that may even have sex in this house aside from him and Alex would be Martha but she wouldn’t ever do it on her father’s bed, she had too much class for that, and he was <em> sure </em> she was still away, and some of the noise was unmistakably low pitched and <em> masculine </em> and her girlfriend would very much not sound like <em> that- </em></p><p>Thomas took the last few steps forward in utter bewilderment, unable to give an explanation to what was apparently happening inside his bedroom, until he had his hand on the door and he pushed it open silently, not a clue in the world about <em> who </em>he would find behind-</p><p>Thomas felt all air being knocked out of his body at the sight before him, and the thought hadn’t even <em> crossed </em> his mind, because surely this was a nightmare, this was a <em> nightmare, </em> this couldn’t be actually <em> real </em>-</p><p>He had to lean against the wall, blinking uncomprehendingly at the scene before him, feeling like he had just been shot in the chest, experiencing that queer phase of sheer <em> confusion </em>that comes before the pain.</p><p>Thinking back to those moments later, Thomas would recognize how <em> blissful </em> they had been, but right there he just wanted to <em> understand, </em> because his brain couldn’t even process the images his eyes were trying to force upon it, because it was simply <em> impossible, </em>and he had quitted doing drugs twenty years before after Martha had found him and James high as balls giggling in Thomas’ bedroom as he produced hellish sounds with his violin that might have started in his mind as music and James accompanied him by screeching and wailing like a dying cat and she refused to talk to him until all the cocaine was down the drain, but this couldn’t be anything other than an hallucination-</p><p>Because Thomas had felt insecure about his relationship with Alexander a thousand times, but he had never, <em> never </em> even thought that there could actually be someone else, that he wasn’t the only one, that Alex wasn’t <em> Thomas’ </em> as much as Thomas was utterly and undeniably <em> his- </em></p><p>Then the pain came crashing down.</p><p>He watched in horror and with stinging eyes as Alexander snapped his hips fiercely to shove himself inside a girl, his hands keeping her soft hips raised, her face smashed down into the pillows as she whimpered and cried, her breasts bouncing and her hair wild and splayed out, as Alexander had sex with a woman Thomas had- <em> hopefully, God please, let her be a complete stranger, he didn’t think he could handle knowing her- </em> never seen before, looking satisfied by what he was getting, and apparently <em> sating his sexual needs was what Alexander was really looking for if a random girl on all fours motionless as she just took what he was willing to give was </em>enough-</p><p>Thomas couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t <em> breathe, </em> and that wasn’t even a surprise per se, not to a man that still had anxiety and panic attacks because he was <em> used </em> to not being able to breathe, but this, <em> this </em>was different. </p><p>This felt like drowning, needing air and getting only water deep in his lungs, like being strapped to a bench and go through hours of waterboarding, every second he looked at his love burying himself inside that girl a new bout of water being forced inside <em> Thomas </em> as everything he had been building- <em> with Alexander, he had been sure he had been doing it </em> with <em> Alexander, that it was a life together they were striving for, but maybe it really was all in his head alone, God he was </em>pathetic- for the past two years crumbling down within a second. </p><p>Thomas wanted nothing more than to burn the scene out of his mind, but he was unable to stop staring in utter horror at Alexander’s back muscles jumping under the creamy skin, that red hair Thomas had buried his hands in countless times sticking to his sweaty unmarred neck, every rough movement of Alexander’s slender hips forward producing disgusting squelching sounds- <em> and who was he trying to kid with all that shit about not being able to see her face being a blessing, it’s not like he wouldn’t start looking at every fair skinned, curvy brunette that spared Alex even a mere glance and think it was her, not like it was in any way easier to stomach if the one helping his partner cheat on him was a nameless faceless girl instead of someone he was acquainted with- </em> unable to stop staring at the way the woman was basically <em> shaking </em>with the vigour she was being pounded with, and didn’t Thomas know that feeling too well?</p><p>Wasn’t <em> Thomas </em> the only person still supposed to feel on his body the absolutely wild force that Alexander showed in bed, the way he would grip his partner’s hips to steady them and just drive home so skillfully and passionately and perfectly that Thomas sometimes <em> cried </em>in pleasure?</p><p>
  <em> (Was that the problem, that he was too sensitive, maybe in some way still inexperienced? Had he been doing something the wrong way the whole time they had been together? Or had the novelty of fucking a man who had only ever taken him and him alone worn off and left a mediocre lay in its place? Why would Alex seek someone else otherwise-) </em>
</p><p>Thomas felt something wet and scalding hot slide down his cheeks, and realised with a sort of detachment that he was crying like a fucking idiot and he really <em> should get the hell out of that house.  </em></p><p>As the breathy, animalistic cacophony of their bodies and vibrating vocal chords increased in intensity and filled obscenely the air, Thomas tried not to make a sound as he retreated hastily from that corridor, the only thought in his mind loud enough to put those hideous images playing in loop behind his eyes was that he couldn’t stay <em> one </em> more minute into this damned apartment- <em> not his home, not his bed, not his safe haven, not when the owner decided that it would be fit to replace him and didn’t even have the grace to </em>tell him- or he’d risk actually throwing up on the corridor’s carpet as his stomach seemed particularly inclined to do. </p><p>There were tears streaming down his face and hiccups blocked down in his throat, the world was spinning around him so much he might not have been walking straight and he was almost out of the door, almost were anyone could look at him and see how pathetic he was- <em> imagine if someone actually </em> recognized him, <em> God he was such a disgrace </em> - but he didn’t care, because it didn’t matter anymore, <em> nothing </em> mattered anymore. </p><p>He stormed quickly out of the entrance, picking up in the split second before slamming the door open the keys to the other apartment- his apartment, his <em> home </em> he supposed- or he would have had to come back there, and that was simply <em> unacceptable </em>. Who would want to be reminded of their nightmares ever again, to visit the place they were set in?</p><p>Thomas let the door shut loudly behind himself, not bothering to swallow down the strangled sob that slid out of his lips, followed by another and another one, and for a second he felt like he couldn’t move, because the world may have as well gone upside down. Thomas put a hand over his squeezed shut eyes as more and more tears escaped unrestrained, and he had to lean on the wall to try and stay upright, to maintain some sort of dignity- but <em> he didn’t want to stay here, he couldn’t stay here, he had to move and get </em>away-</p><p>He heard the distinctive sound of feet rushing inside the apartment, a loved, familiar male voice shouting something and becoming clearer as it approached the door, and it gave Thomas the strength to sprint down the stairs and out of the building, face still a mess and one hand squeezing an unfamiliar set of keys so hard that blood began to dribble down, but it didn’t matter, of course it didn’t. </p><p>Thomas walked briskly down the sidewalk, without turning back once. </p><p>He didn’t think he would ever be able to look at the door that had been welcoming him home for the past year ever again. </p><p>He didn’t think he’d be able to look <em> Alexander </em> in the eyes ever again <em> .  </em></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: ?? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: why did you… delete a message? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: anyway, it doesn’t matter </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: I wanted to ask, could you by chance get off work a bit earlier today? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: I kinda feel like I haven’t seen you in days, love </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: pretty please? I’ll make it worth your time ;) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: Thomas is everything alright? It’s already eleven, at least tell me how much longer you plan to lock yourself up in your office for? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: Thomas please I’m getting worried, you always text back when you stay in late </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: Thomas??? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: fucking hell, answer your phone at least </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: Thomas, what the fuck, it’s one in the motherfucking morning, if you aren’t passed out on your desk right now I swear we’ll have words </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: you dick don’t ignore me!! I haven’t yet received a call from the hospital telling me you’re drugged or being operated so you can’t answer your phone, but if you don’t cut the crap istg you’ll regret not to have been </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: I’ll call Washington.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: so, I called him and he was sleeping and he was absolutely pissed but WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS STORY OF YOU GETTING OUT OF WORK AT FOUR TODAY?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: Thomas where the heck are you??? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> To Alexander: I’m fine, stop throwing a fit.  </em>
</p><p><em> From Alexander: YOU FUCKING SHIT DID IT TAKE MUCH???? COULDN’T YOU TELL ME </em> LAST NIGHT <em> INSTEAD OF HAVING ME NOT SLEEP A WINK IN WORRY, AND BE A WRETCHED MESS FOR HALF OF THE NEXT DAY BECAUSE YOU WERE NOWHERE TO BE SEEN EVEN HERE AT WORK??? </em></p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: WHY DIDN’T YOU ANSWER LAST NIGHT?? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: THOMAS </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: Thomas fucking explain yourself.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: you haven’t even told me WHERE you are </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: Thomas please </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: did you get home this morning? Or did you go to your old apartment? Or you went down to Monticello? Or you’re at Madison’s? At the Adamses’?! You fucking boarded a plane and you went to stay at Lafayette’s?? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: don’t make me fucking ask them.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: fine, you must be at your old place here in Philadelphia, they all had NO FUCKING CLUE about what the fuck I was talking about  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From Alexander: I’ll be there in an hour.  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It had been a little more than a day if Thomas had been counting right. </p><p>Not that it had any relevance, anyway. </p><p>He was lying on the uncomfortable, unfamiliar couch he had picked out among far more comfortable models for whatever reason years ago, staring unseeingly at the ceiling as he had been doing for the past however many hours since he’d closed his apartment’s door behind him. </p><p>He hadn’t even <em> considered </em> going anywhere near his old bed, not when he’d have to be there alone and be reminded of what he’d <em> seen- </em></p><p>He still couldn’t manage for the life of him to burn that image out of his brain, couldn’t manage to stop having those filthy sounds echo in his ears, couldn’t stop the weight on his chest from asphyxiating him, couldn’t stop thinking about all the times Alex had kissed him awake heartbreakingly tender, all the times he’d sneaked his arms around him and whispered his adoration into Thomas’ skin, all the times he’d sneered at him as they got out of a cabinet meeting and <em> are you actually trying to send us to bankruptcy, how can your ideas be so idiotic, you’re damn lucky I love you or I’d start tearing you down in the newspapers and social media until you couldn’t walk in the street without having people throw rotten tomatoes at you </em> but he’d have that playful glint in his eyes and he looked so <em> fond- </em></p><p>and now Thomas couldn’t help but replay all those wonderful memories and see faults and shadows in all of them, seeing a fakeness to them that he had never even considered, and <em> he was going mad, he was already- </em></p><p>Someone knocked on his door.</p><p>Thomas continued to stare at the ceiling.</p><p>“Thomas! Thomas it’s me, open this fucking door!”</p><p>Thomas- <em> Thomas almost got up to open the door and scream at Alexander until his voice was scratchy and overused, to tug him harshly inside his house and slap the hell out of him, to claw at his shoulders and cry his hurt and shame in his chest, to let himself melt helplessly in his arms and kiss him hard and passionate and relentless to remind him </em> whom <em> he belonged to, because he was Thomas’, he belonged to </em> Thomas, <em> not that nameless, faceless woman he still saw on all fours on his bed, he belonged to </em>Thomas-</p><p>“Thomas let me in! We need to talk!”</p><p>Thomas- <em> was hurt beyond belief, could never even conceive to entrust his heart upon another ever again, not after Martha, not after </em> Alexander <em> who had seemed to want to heal Thomas, to take care of him, to </em>keep him-</p><p>“Thomas, please!”<br/>Thomas continued to stare at the ceiling.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em> From John: Thomas, is everything alright? Hamilton just stormed into my office all frantic and beastly to ask if you were staying at my house?? And why aren’t you at work today? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From John: Thomas?? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From John: hey man, are you alive? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From John: you know that not answering texts for eleven hours straight is bad manners, right? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> From John: ??? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> To John: Migraine. But I’ll be fine.  </em>
</p><p><em> From John: he lives! Anyway- a </em> migraine? <em> For </em> three <em> days? Are you sure everything’s alright? Did something happen? Is it an actual migraine or your post-embarrassment usual excuse?? </em></p><p>
  <em> From John: Thomas?  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Jefferson, is there a reason you haven’t shown up four days in a row?”<br/>Thomas forced a smile on his face as he silently let out a heavy sigh. He had known this call would come, but it didn’t mean he was actually <em> ready </em>for it.</p><p>“Mr President.” he answered feebly, voice as faint as he felt <em> (four days, it had been four days and he didn’t feel </em> any better, <em> shit how was he supposed to live again after-) </em>  “I have unfortunately fallen ill.”</p><p>“I’m very sorry to hear it. It must be bad if you couldn’t even send me a mail to warn me about your absence.”<br/>Now, if only Washington didn’t sound so damndenly <em> not convinced </em>Thomas would almost believe him.</p><p>“Yes, unfortunately it’s not looking good. I’ll get back to you when I’ll be able to work.”<br/>There was a long silence, and he could almost <em> feel </em> the President trying to discern whether he was actually ill- which, in a way he absolutely was and he was <em> extremely </em>pissed at the fact that he apparently barely deserved the benefit of doubt-  or he was running away from his responsibilities.</p><p>“Should I put Alexander on leave to help you at home?”</p><p>“No” too fast, he answered too fast, now he’d be certain something was up, and <em> what if he forced Alex to come and see what was going on with him, what if- </em> “There’s no need.”<br/>“Oh.” and really, only George Washington could say something as simple as <em> oh </em> like <em> that- </em> “Well, goodbye then Mr Secretary, get better soon.”<br/>As Thomas heard the sound of the President hanging up before he could get in another word, he wondered if after all he’d get fired even if the Elections were so close that it was a surprise they were still slaving away like they had to rule the nation for more than some measly months. </p><p>He wasn’t sure he cared.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: Thomas </em>
</p><p><em> from Alexander: Thomas, why did I have to hear from </em> Washington <em> that you’re sick?! </em> <em><br/></em> <em> from Alexander: please, come home, I’m worried </em></p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: you’re actually sick, right? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: Thomas?? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: you don’t happen to have come home earlier than usual a few days ago…? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: and you heard... you know </em>
</p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: ok, you definitely were there </em>
</p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: can we talk about this? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: just hear me out </em>
</p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: you can take your time, though </em>
</p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: a few days? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: just talk to me, ok? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: please, answer me </em>
</p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: really, you can totally take your time, I’m not pressing you </em>
</p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: I know you need your space </em>
</p><p><em> from Alexander: but I mean, is it really necessary to make a big deal out of this? </em> <em><br/></em> <em> from Alexander: love, just come back and let’s get this behind us, mh? </em></p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: Thomas </em>
</p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: Answer, please. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: Are you ok? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: Thomas what the fuck look at your phone </em>
</p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: you never turn the vibrations off so you must be hearing this </em>
</p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: you’ve never behaved like this before, what’s going on with you?? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: are you ignoring me??? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: answer me!!! </em>
</p><p><em> from Alexander: Thomas come on!! </em> <em><br/></em> <em> from Alexander: Thomas, please </em></p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: Thomas you’re scaring me  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> from Alexander: please, come back </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Thomas!”<br/>He tried to ignore the noise of one John Adams banging on his door and trying to get his attention- and he managed, for a whole ten minutes before a sense of guilt <em> (and wasn’t it funny that this guilt was the first thing he had felt in days other than the numbness and hurt desperation that had paralyzed him and made him lay on the couch motionless as he ignored his phone being flooded with messages and calls he didn’t answer to) </em> made him walk wearily to the entrance.</p><p>“John.”</p><p>Thomas felt a hint of surprise at how gravelly and hoarse his voice had become in the last few days- but he heard it like it wasn’t coming from him, all of his body feeling like something separate from Thomas, like a simple shell he had occupied once but couldn’t really connect to anymore.</p><p>From the way John’s eyes widened almost comically as they roamed up and down his body, the rest of him wasn’t in much better condition. </p><p>“Thomas, what-“</p><p>“Do you need something?”</p><p>Surprise gave way to Adams’ own special brand of righteous anger that had talked into submission hundreds of people as his cheeks seemed to heat up instantly, his chest rising as he stored air away to begin his tirade. </p><p>“As a matter of fact <em> yes</em>, I want to know why you aren’t answering my calls and messages and <em> what the fuck </em>happened that put you in this state, and why aren’t you at Hamilton’s, I thought that these days it was virtually impossible to make you two spend more than a day without each other, what-“</p><p>Thomas slammed the door in his face, feeling his hands tremble and his head spin as the walls seemed to close around him. </p><p>He faintly heard John continue to shout on the other side of the thick wood, but what could he say? <em> Alexander, Alexander happened, that’s what. One second I was alive and breathing through the devastating amount of adoration twisting and twirling in my chest and suddenly that asshole doesn’t love me anymore and I turn into the shadow of myself </em> - oh sure, because that’d go down <em> so well. </em></p><p>He wasn’t letting anyone see just the <em> extent </em>of his piteous, pathetic state, he already disgusted himself enough not to need someone else’s judgmental looks. </p><p>No, that was simply not happening. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em> From Alexander : can’t you behave like a fucking adult!? </em>
</p><p><em> From Alexander </em> <em> : all it takes is </em> answer the damn phone. <em> Even your teenage daughters manage.  </em></p><p><em> From Alexander </em> <em> : do you have any idea how humiliating it is to have people calling me and interrupting me as I work every five minutes because they want to know why we haven’t seen you in days and I myself don’t fucking know?! </em></p><p><em> From Alexander </em> <em> : geez, I thought I mattered to you at least a little.  </em></p><p><em> From Alexander </em> <em> : and now I’m not even good enough to have an </em> answer <em> from you? </em></p><p><em> From Alexander </em> <em> : here I am, worrying myself sick over you because you refuse to actually tell me even </em> where <em> you are, while you’re probably partying down at Monticello for whatever reason </em></p><p><em> From Alexander </em> <em> : if the stress was getting to be too much you just had to </em>talk to me</p><p><em> From Alexander </em> <em> : I mean, you ignoring me is not exactly novelty seen the precedent you set these past weeks </em></p><p><em> From Alexander </em> <em> : but at least you fucking came home every night </em></p><p><em> From Alexander </em> <em> : whatever have I even done?! </em></p><p><em> From Alexander </em> <em> : sometimes I really don’t understand why I even bother with you </em></p><p><em> From Alexander </em> <em> : sorry </em></p><p>
  <em> From Alexander : fuck, I’m so sorry Thomas </em>
</p><p><em> From Alexander </em> <em> : I didn’t mean it  </em></p><p><em> From Alexander </em> <em> : I’m just so on edge, I’m sorry please don’t even mind what I said earlier </em></p><p>
  <em> From Alexander : mon ange, please </em>
</p><p><em> From Alexander </em> <em> : please, just  </em></p><p><em> From Alexander </em> <em> : can we just talk? </em></p><p>
  <em> From Alexander : je t’en prie, mon amour, ton silence me tue </em>
</p><p><em> From Alexander </em> <em> : Thomas I’m really trying to understand what happened but I really really can’t  </em></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Thomas couldn’t go on like that anymore.<br/>He had screamed and trashed and cried, had thought back to every gesture that might have expressed Alexander’s dissatisfaction, had tried to <em> understand- </em> but he had come up empty handed. All he had left to do was make peace with the fact that <em> he wouldn’t be able to wrap his head around it, </em>and he could either go ask for an answer or try to move on, forget about Alexander’s cheating or about Alexander altogether, and get the fuck on with his life one way or another. </p><p>Thomas knew he wouldn’t be able to forget about that scene though, he knew it perfectly well and he couldn’t just <em> ignore it </em> when it spontaneously presented itself on the forefront of his mind every few minutes, unwanted and uncalled for <em> - </em> but what were the options left?<br/>Did they all have to lead to <em> breaking up </em> with Alex? But how could Thomas do it, with what strength, what form of sorcery to completely cloud his self awareness did he think he’d be able to <em> end it? </em></p><p><em> (But wouldn’t it be better to keep Alexander, even only just part of him, any part of Alexander as long as they were together? He could compromise, could learn to share him, Thomas could-) </em> <em><br/></em> The only thing he was sure of was that <em> he wasn’t ready </em> to see Alexander again- the memory of him thrusting passionately into that woman too fresh, too vivid, too much- on the other hand, he couldn’t stay holed up in his home forever. Not only was he starting to lose perception of what was real and what wasn’t, but he had to get back to work- no, Thomas didn’t need the money, but unfortunately <em> he cared, </em> and that meant yeeting himself out of his house and get back on track- he had to rewrite his proposal,  had to apologize to John for being rude, had to <em> face </em>Alex again, one way or another, one day or the next.</p><p>So he went in the evening, because he didn’t <em>want </em>to see Alexander-no matter there was a part of him that <em>would</em> <em>always want to see Alexander, </em>and Thomas had to suffocate it before it became strong enough to quell his rage and hurt- but they had to talk about it. He couldn’t let silence define what his future would be, no, and he wanted an <em>explanation, </em>he wanted it <em>spelled out </em>that he hadn’t been <em>enough. </em></p><p>That is how, one otherwise nondescript August Friday evening, Thomas found himself knocking at the door he had thought he’d never have to walk through again, the key to that door a burdensome weight in his pocket, but it would stay <em>unused </em>because he didn’t know where he stood with Alexander, because he didn’t know what <em>he </em>himself wanted, because he didn’t know if his dignity and sanity mattered that much to him in the end- and <em>wasn’t that a terrifying thought, what had Alexander </em>done<em> to him, he had had something akin to balance at one point of his life, but now- </em>and letting himself in with the <em>key </em>would probably burn his hand as soon as it touched its metal like a demon trying to walk into a Church, would probably make his head spin with too many thoughts and doubts and <em>he wasn’t ready, he wasn’t-</em></p><p>So Thomas knocked. </p><p>“What the fuck” he heard deep within the house, the familiar grumbling becoming louder by the second “why can’t they leave me alone at least in the privacy of my fucking <em> home, </em> what do they <em> want </em> from me, I knew I should have stayed a lawyer, at least <em> clients </em> don’t try to barge into your house at eight in the evening, <em> why </em> politicians do that, this doesn’t even <em> come fucking close </em> to human decency <em> - </em>Thomas!”</p><p>Thomas didn’t feel anything of that- frankly underwhelming, and wasn’t that indicative enough? - shame he had when John had found him a mess and less-than-tactfully pointed it out, because Thomas wouldn’t let this asshole win this argument, wouldn’t let him manage to see how much he had unthinkingly <em> destroyed </em> him, because Thomas deserved an explanation and at least an ounce of respect, and he would <em> damn well look the part.  </em></p><p>If his heart stuttered when his eyes roamed quickly over Alexander’s surprisingly haggard, surprisingly worried, unsurprisingly slimmer-than-a-week-before figure, it was certainly none’s business but Thomas’. </p><p>“Thomas, what-“ Alexander was taking him in, shock and surprise quickly giving way to anger- <em> he had no right to be angry, it was his fault, it was </em> his fault- as he took a step forward and closed his fist around the front of Thomas’ shirt to pull him closer. Alex’s annoyingly captivating violet eyes were staring into his with the same unrestrained fury that had always drawn Thomas to him, <em> and why did he have to go and fall in love with </em> him <em> , why- </em> “You shit, how dare you disappear for a <em> week, </em> ignore my calls and my texts and <em> me </em> when I come at yours to try to be reassured you’re actually fine, how dare you leave me with <em> one </em> measly message and then <em> nothing, </em> I had to know you were still alive by <em> Washington, </em> and <em> Adams, </em> and the fat bastard was worried <em> sick </em> about you and you should hear how distressed <em> Lafayette </em> is, he almost bought a ticket to come here- but that’s <em> nothing </em> compared to how you left me feeling for <em> a week, </em> hoping at every hour that you’d finally talk to me or <em> come home, </em>what do you have to say for yoursel-“</p><p>“Can I come in?”</p><p>Alex was left with his mouth agape, obviously caught off guard by Thomas’ cold voice- <em> he should have expected it, he knew Thomas </em> knew, <em> Thomas had seen the texts, why was he acting like Thomas </em>didn’t?</p><p>“Of course you fucking can come in, we need to damn well <em> talk </em>about-“</p><p>“Yes.” He answered, trying to control his voice “Yes, we do.”</p><p>Thomas slipped in, the door shutting quietly behind him as he made his way inside, looking around the living room and wondering if the couch they had spent many evenings curled up against each other had been desecrated too, if the floor had been used to fuck <em> that </em> girl on after Alex had so often pressed<em>Thomas </em>to it and kissed him breathless-</p><p>He felt Alexander’s eyes burn into his back as he approached him slowly, but Thomas was lost watching the ghost of his past self move into this very room without sparing even a single thought to eventuality of <em> not </em> being the only one sharing this space with Alexander, because Thomas had known, deep down, that he was loved and cherished and that Alexander wouldn’t, Alexander <em> couldn’t- </em></p><p>He had been so very wrong. </p><p>Thomas was brought out of his musings as two very familiar hands tenderly touched his waist-<em>the same hands that held </em> her <em> hips so they didn’t give out, the same hands that had worshipped </em>him- as Alex let his head fall on Thomas’ shoulder. </p><p>“I’m just glad you’re back” Alex croaked out, having probably noticed that he was too troubled to explain himself. </p><p>Thomas’ eyes fluttered shut and he was glad Alexander couldn’t see his face because it must have been a pathetic sight if the desperation he felt rise in his chest was to be believed, because he <em> still wanted this man, he wanted him so much, how could he even believe he’d be able to leave him- </em></p><p>“Thomas-“</p><p>“How long?” And really, fuck his voice for sounding so small, <em> he </em> should have been the one in power here, he should have had control at least over <em> this- </em></p><p>“<em>Mon ange-“ </em></p><p>Thomas wrenched himself from Alexander’s embrace, putting a good arm’s length between their bodies, his nerve endings <em> screaming at him </em> to get <em> away </em> from Alex, to get <em> impossibly closer </em>again and let himself settle in the circle of his arms-</p><p>“How. Long?”</p><p>Silence stretched out enough that Thomas raised his eyes to look again at Alexander’s handsome face, the image of its muscles scrunched up in pleasure just a week before blurring into his present crestfallen expression. </p><p>His shoulders had slumped forward a bit, his head bowed slightly as long red locks escaped their bind and went down to caress his high cheekbones, and Thomas wanted to wipe that expression from his face and reassure him everything was alright, wipe it from his features with a harsh slap to his cheek-</p><p>“Three weeks.”</p><p><em> Three- </em> Thomas had been sleeping in the same bed she had gotten into for <em> three weeks, </em> Alexander had been lying for <em> three weeks, </em> he had been <em> cheating </em>on him for-</p><p>
  <em>"Three weeks?” </em>
</p><p>“Yes” oh, <em> now </em> he seemed hesitant, not when he had romanced a woman into his bed without probably even wondering if it was right, with a partner waiting for him at home, <em> how could he</em>- “Every few days. Sometimes at hers, sometimes in a hotel, sometimes...here.”</p><p>Thomas had been unconsciously leaning against the couch, but he immediately bolted away from it as though it had burned him, trying to find a place where it <em> couldn’t have happened </em> and coming up with <em> none, </em>his whole home suddenly looking like the dark, scary cursed woods of a medieval tale.</p><p>“Why, Alex?”</p><p>He looked straight ahead of himself, unable to even <em> look </em>at Alexander, too-</p><p>“I- come on Thomas, it’s not such a big deal.”</p><p>“Not” his voice came out hollow, the shock and hurt making him feel once again detached from reality, because this was a dream, he hadn’t actually <em> said that, </em> his Alexander was too smart for it, right? “Not a big deal?”<br/>“I still came home to you at the end of the day, didn’t I?”<br/>Right.<br/>“That’s all it takes?” he stared at Alexander, feeling his insides burn and his blood run cold but <em> he couldn’t not look at him, </em> how very <em> dared he? </em> “The only thing to keep in place a years-long <em> committed </em> relationship is to <em> come home to each other at the end of the day? </em>No matter where you stuck your dick in the meantime?!”</p><p>Thomas saw Alex’s eyes light up with anger once again, a suspicious blush rising in his cheeks, looking passionate as always and <em> more distant </em> and <em> alien </em>than ever before.</p><p>“We have been officially together for a year, it’s not even that much!”</p><p>“Oh, sure, we have <em> only been officially together for a year </em> !” Thomas’ whole body came to life as irritation and disbelief started to course through him “Let us forget the whole other year and a half we spent dating, and the decisively more <em> intimate </em> acquaintance we had going on for I don’t know how many months prior! And after years, <em> years Alexander, </em>suddenly I’m a fling? A stranger?”</p><p>“That’s not what I-“</p><p>“That’s <em> exactly </em> what you meant!” interrupted Thomas again, unable to hear any more <em> lies </em>coming out of that mouth  “I know you, little shit, and I know that on some level of your mind you have been trying to justify yourself with this belief for as long as we’ve been together.”</p><p>Alex seemed to halt for a second, and maybe they were finally going to have an <em> honest conversation- </em>“You don’t get to fucking strut into my house at random and behave as though you know everything about me!”</p><p>Or maybe not.</p><p>Thomas laughed humorlessly, with a harsh, bitter edge he hadn’t even expected,  feeling his chest constrict, something like heartbreak spreading slowly inside of him, but it couldn’t be, how could it break any more than it already had a week before?</p><p>“But I do, Alexander!” he shot back, feeling his eyes sting and a weight settle in his throat, because he hadn’t even been worth <em> consciously accepting </em> his presence as something stable and <em> close </em> to Alexander- “Because this was my home too, because <em> I do know you-” </em> <em><br/></em> Probably because he hadn’t been. His gradual moving in had meant nothing, what he thought he had understood of the other man had <em> clearly been nothing, </em> all that vulnerability he thought Alex had let himself show had really been <em> a lot less intentional </em>than Thomas had perceived it, because of course he’d fooled himself-</p><p>“No, Thomas, this is <em> my </em> house, which I bought five years ago with more than half my savings, <em> yours </em> is on the other side of the city, where you have spent the last week <em> completely ignoring me, </em> and you know what, you can very much go fuck yourself if this is how you’re going to treat me after all.”<br/>“Do you even realise how ridiculous you sound? You’re like a petty child refusing to take his responsibility and counting what’s his and what’s not. You know, I barely even can <em> distinguish </em> what belonged to me and what didn’t, I thought it wouldn’t even <em> matter </em> anymore-”<br/>“I don’t know what you deluded yourself into thinking” Alexander’s eyes were cold, so cold and sharp that Thomas barely kept himself from shuddering as he was cut off mid-speech “but this isn’t a marriage. We both can walk away whenever we want, that’s kind of the point of it.”</p><p>“I know, ok?” he answered, trying and failing not to make his voice break “I know! I still would have liked to know that you wanted an out <em> before </em> finding you fucking a random woman more my daughter’s age than mine in the bed you have fucked <em> me </em> in, you have slept in <em> with me, </em>for the past two years!”</p><p>Alexander’s deep, disquieting eyes widened suddenly, and he surged forward, getting near, <em> too near- </em></p><p>“That’s not it <em> at all </em> you idiot, I don’t want any out, of course I still want to be with you!”<br/>“Fine way to show it!” he spit out, watching with a note of apprehension as Alexander approached him and he did <em> nothing </em> to stop him.<br/>“What the fuck- what’s your problem, it was still you I waited up until ass o’clock on the couch, hoping that this damned door would open before two in the morning and to have some kind of interaction with you that went beyond you brushing off everything I did and said to try and keep your attention!”<br/>“Yes, I fucked up Alexander, and I was about to apologize for it last Friday, but it seems to me like we have a more urgent problem to talk about!”</p><p>“See?” Alexander began to gesticulate wildly as he always did when he thought someone was proving his point- key word being <em> thought, </em> because <em> what the absolute hell- </em>“You don’t care! You don’t fucking care, you don’t care about how I feel, about how I am, I could be-”</p><p>“Alexander do you even hear yourself?!” and he hated shouting, but he couldn’t <em> control himself, </em> this was <em> not happening </em> “Have <em> you </em> thought even <em> once </em> how <em> I </em> might feel about my partner <em> cheating on me </em> ?”<br/>Alexander didn’t miss a beat, because of course he didn’t, of course it made perfect sense in that head of his, what did Thomas expect? </p><p><em> (Was </em> he <em> really the one at fault? Was it normal for a man to have sex with others outside a relationship without needing the other’s consent, was he overreacting after all?) </em></p><p><br/>“You didn’t even let me explain myself!”<br/>“What was there to explain?! I saw you fucking her, that’s enough for me!”<br/>“How can you say that, you should have let me talk to you, instead of literally running out of the door before I could even approach you!” Alexander grabbed his arm, as though he needed the physical contact to emphasise his point, and Thomas- “Before I could tell you <em> what </em> really happened.”<br/>Thomas shook his head, eyes closed and breath uneven, trembling slightly at Alexander’s touch, but not retreating, <em> never </em>retreating-</p><p>“I don’t want to hear it, Alex, I don’t- I’d just like to <em> not know </em> that you were doing <em> that, </em> I-” his voice broke, and he swallowed down a sob, feeling the hand on his arm squeeze tighter, and that once used to calm him, but how could it even try to soothe him now when the pain had no possibility of being stopped and just kept intensifying, and intensifying, and <em> intensifying- </em> “I let you in, Alexander. I let you in and <em> this </em> happened.”<br/>“Thomas-” a light hand was suddenly cupping his cheek and wiping away the lone, shameful tear that escaped his quickly dissolving control over his body. “Thomas, it’s-”</p><p>“No, Alexander, you <em> can’t do this </em> , I let you in and you threw that away, <em> you know I promised her </em> I’d never marry again, you <em> know </em>how much that means to me-“</p><p>“Shh-“</p><p>“But for you I would have broken that promise <em>in a heartbeat</em>.” His breath was as shaky as he felt, but for some reason he couldn’t stop the words from flowing out and they were the only <em> steady thing </em>about him in that moment “I let you in, you didn’t even have to steal a thing because I was already putting it there in front of you,  and you just continued to take and take and take-“</p><p>“Thomas, I-“</p><p>“And it was fine! There wasn’t a part of me that you didn’t completely <em> own </em>but I didn’t mind it, because I was yours anyway-“</p><p>“Shh, my love, it’s alright.” </p><p>And when Alex leaned up and pressed their lips together, soft and lingering like <em> everything was the same as it always had been, </em> like <em> he really meant that word, </em> like they could just go on and ignore that Alexander had been cheating on him for <em> three weeks, </em>something deep within Thomas broke, and he gripped the wrists enclosing his face to yank them off, turning sharply his head to the side to break the kiss. </p><p>He took a step back for good measure, staring Alexander in the eyes and feeling overwhelmed and hollow all at once, seeing the other blink twice like he had no clue what was going on, and Thomas just wanted to slap him and continue kissing him at the same time and <em> he had to get himself in check, Jesus- </em></p><p>“No, Alexander, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to <em> say </em> that like you didn’t shit all over my dignity and still kiss me and call me love, you <em> can’t-” </em></p><p>“But it’s true, Thomas, it’s true! I don’t understand why you’re putting so much weight on something that has <em> no importance. </em> If- if it’s Maria the problem, she means <em> nothing to me, </em> she was just there and-” and how could he look so <em> earnest </em> and <em> honest </em> while saying all of this was really beyond Thomas, how had he never seen this Tony-worthy acting of his until <em> now? </em>  “<em>Mon ange, </em>I still love you and you’re still mine and I still want you just like I did a day or a year ago. Why are you putting up such a fuss?”</p><p>Thomas looked at him helplessly, unable to even put his thoughts in order enough to speak a word- <em> he was bewildered, he was offended, he was bleeding out and Alexander was just continuing to stab him in the chest without a care in the world, how could he- </em> and shook his head, before beginning to make his way down the corridor, echoes of the moaning and whimpering he’d heard a week before almost resonating through the walls as he walked the same exact steps he’d made then, the only difference how now Alexander was behind him and trying to catch up with his long legs and not-</p><p>“Thomas, what-”<br/>He didn’t even look back as he stepped inside their- <em> Alexander’s- </em>room and replied with the most controlled voice he could muster “You’re an idiot.”</p><p>He felt completely broken and numb at the same time as he stretched his arm to reach the wardrobe’s top shelf with hands shaking in hurt and anger at Alexander’s blindness, at his own stupidity for thinking that someone other than Martha could ever really love him, could ever want <em> him </em>and his insecurities and idiosyncrasies-</p><p>“That was uncalled for, but-what” Thomas grasped the duffle bags and lowered them to the ground, trying to wind down because it wasn’t worth it, nothing was- “What are you doing?”</p><p>“Packing my things.” he began to take his shirts off the hangers and tried to quickly fold them and shove them into the bag, refusing to let his gaze wander from his task, because <em> he had to get out of there, he had to get </em>out-</p><p>“But- where do you-”</p><p>“I’m going home. Don’t worry, I will never cross this threshold again once I’m out.”</p><p>“What-” no, the distress he <em> thought </em> was obvious in Alex’s voice wasn’t real, nothing in all of this was real, he’d been living a <em> lie </em> “Thomas, please rethink this-”</p><p>“You think I haven’t done any <em> thinking </em>this week?” he lowered his voice again, hands fisting tightly around the clothes, eyes fixed down to the floor “I can’t be with you Alexander-”</p><p>“But why?! It’s just another bump in the road” Thomas felt him get close, felt the back of his hand brush tenderly against his cheekbone “we can go through this together.”</p><p>Thomas shied away from his touch, hoping he’d <em> finally </em> get the message “No, I’ve had enough of all of this. No.”</p><p>“Thomas, we-”<br/>“No, Alexander we can’t, we-” </p><p>“Thomas-”<br/>“We really can’t-”</p><p>“<em>Regarde moi en face quand je te parle!</em>” </p><p>Thomas slowly turned his head and looked at Alex, red hair flying around his face in utter disarray, eyes bright and demanding an answer, fists closed tight, whole body tense and ready to bolt.</p><p>“I’m looking at you, now.” he was barely able to get out, quiet and drained “What else do you <em> want </em> from me?”<br/>Alex swallowed visibly, gaze unwaveringly locked with Thomas’, the bruise-like bags under his eyes enhancing that wild <em> something </em> hiding just under the surface.</p><p>“Don’t go.”<br/>Thomas stared back, and- <em> and almost said </em> yes, of course, darling <em> , because it was fucked up but he </em> knew <em> it wasn’t an act, he </em> knew <em> Alex loved him in some way, he </em> knew <em> he wanted him to stay because </em> he cared about him, <em> so Thomas almost nodded and left the clothes on the floor and let himself be enveloped by Alexander’s arms and tried to talk it out, tried to make him understand </em> why it had been such a big deal, <em> tried to work on sewing back together their relationship-  </em></p><p>He shook his head, looking down again.</p><p>“It’s over, Alex. I can’t do this anymore- I <em> don’t want </em>it anymore.”</p><p>Everything was still for a moment and he could almost hear his own heart shatter as he realized he <em> had done it, </em> he had broken up with Alexander, oh God how <em> could he, </em> no, <em> no they could fix it, they could </em>fix it-</p><p>But before he could get in another word and take back everything he said, Thomas heard a quiet chuckle escape Alex’s lips. It took Thomas so off guard that he immediately looked up again to see something <em> mocking </em> and <em> derisive </em> and <em> cruel </em>twist his features.</p><p>“You know what?” Alex took a step back, fists sinking into his pockets as his body relaxed completely, a hip cocked to the side as he stared at Thomas like he never had before, like the only thing he’d ever want to do was <em>destroy </em>him, make him <em>bleed, </em>completely <em>end </em>him “It’s fine. I’m so glad you said that, because it was <em>high time, </em>this whole thing with Maria served its purpose and made me come to my senses. Did you really think I’d ruin my own life by settling down already, with a <em>widower </em>seven years my senior, of all things? That I’d be willing to just go and play house with you and have to take care of your daughters?”</p><p>Thomas felt something shift as he stared at Alexander’s face, suddenly a mask of what it usually was, closed-off and vicious, his words and his expression reaching Thomas painfully in a way he didn’t even know they could, and he felt barely in control, he had to-<br/>“Sure, I don’t bend over and let you continue being a scoundrel like your mother did with your father and suddenly-”<br/>“Don’t you dare talk about her!”</p><p>Thomas felt his face go blank, something mean tugging at his lips as he stared up at Alexander, feeling so fragile that a strong wing would topple him over, and Alexander was a <em> hurricane- </em></p><p>“So <em>now </em> he reacts.” Thomas just looked him in the eyes, those impenetrable eyes, and felt himself fade a little more as he continued “You’ve never disgusted me more, Alexander.”<br/>Alex wasn’t the kind of man to ever get physically <em> aggressive </em>with a partner, there was too much history about violence in his childhood for that, but Thomas for a second thought that he might just jump forward and go for the jugular, throw a punch or claw and scratch and bite and hit until blood seeped out and bruises blossomed-</p><p>but of course, he didn’t. The moment was gone in a second, just like Alexander himself as he briskly made his way out of the apartment, letting the door slam behind him, leaving Thomas alone in the quiet, empty house he had called home up until a week before. </p><p>He took in a deep breath, feeling all energy slide out him in a matter of seconds, and the urge to just stay there, kneeling on the floor motionless until some semblance of life made its way back in his body was <em> so tempting- </em></p><p>Thomas picked up the shirts discarded on the floor and shoved them into one of the bags, beginning to work mindlessly on eliminating his and the girls’ presence from this place altogether, eyes stinging madly, white noise ringing in his ears.</p><p>On his way out, he forgot-<em> or maybe it was a semi-conscious choice, but what did it matter, really- </em> to leave the key inside the house, unable to completely slam <em> that </em>door shut.</p><p>He didn’t have the strength to let it burn his hand to take it out of his pocket, not when every inch of him already felt charred and mangled by a hurt so deep he didn’t think he’d ever be able to wash it away.</p><p>It was for the best.</p><p>
  <em> (It had to be, or Thomas would have just ruined his own life for nothing.) </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Going to help him had definitely been a bad idea. Thomas had rushed over to his place as soon as he saw Peggy’s message, worry coursing through him, the complete numbness that had followed the moment he had gently closed the door behind him- in retrospect it may have been foolish to hope the day before would be the last time he’d ever <em> see </em> it again since he and Alexander seemed to unconsciously gravitate toward each other even when they <em> didn’t want to, </em> because God just laid back and watched the universe being shit like <em> that- </em> all but melt away as soon as the words <em> where can we take him, he’s barely stringing  together two words, I think standing up straight or talk coherently is far beyond him now </em>appeared before his eyes.</p><p>But it had been a bad idea because Alex had draped himself all over him like he’d done every other time he was too out of it to pretend he wasn’t a needy bastard- and he’d been so lovely and easy to read and affectionate, tying his arms around Thomas’ waist and burying his face in his chest like he’d been forcibly torn from Thomas for weeks, like they hadn’t screamed at each other for half an hour straight and stomped gracelessly all over the shattered remains of their relationship, pulverizing whatever had been left there on the floor to be picked up and maybe even mended, kissing Thomas’ hand and looking at him with that kind of heartwarming, timestopping affection, and it had felt like Alex was <em> still his, </em> his everything of harsh insults and loving words and warm smiles and witty replies and <em> why did it have to end like this, couldn’t they still be </em> together <em> - </em></p><p>Thomas sighed, looking around in a room full of cardboard boxes put on the floor as silent tears streamed down his face just the day before. </p><p>It had ended. It had really ended, the most blissful time of his life since his younger years- it was over. <em>How could it be over, how could he and Alexander just end, how could their flame just </em> die, <em> Thomas wanted him back, he wanted him back </em> now, <em> how could he hope to live again after having known Alexander’s love- </em></p><p>Thomas held tighter the neck of his violin as he put it on his shoulder, slowly making his way across the room and barely avoiding the boxes on the floor, placing himself near the window. He looked morosely out of the glass, where people were busying themselves with their lives, where they were going back home to their partners and kids, being kissed at the door and held through the night- he shook his head slightly and adjusted his chin’s grip on the violin before letting the middle point of the bow settle on the second string. </p><p>He breathed in, closed his eyes, and let his right hand move upward, the bow then gliding gently as tender, simple, clear notes rang out of his instrument- simple like his pain, unhurried, like they had all the time in the world, as though this melancholy, sorrowful melody was eternal too-</p><p>He’d have to tell Patsy and Polly at some point, about their umpteenth change of setting and the new Hamilton-shaped hole in all of their lives, about the fact that their father wasn’t even able to make his partner think twice before breaking faith and leaving him behind, let alone give them a stable family situation, a balanced, healthy life- <em> he should have listened to Martha, he should have obeyed his wife’s order not to remarry for the sake of their children if not for hers, and this had been too close, this had changed his life like another marriage would’ve, he was so </em> stupid, <em> who knows if his Martha could ever forgive him wherever she was for loving another in the way he had loved her and </em>more- and he wasn’t ready to even think of their reaction, but he had to worry about it sooner rather than later, maybe he could convince Abigail to keep Polly for a few weeks more, maybe he could shield them both from the mess that he would become as he tried to recover-</p><p>The notes got higher, the bowings more ample and passionate, the melody resonating within him in a way it had never done before, and he felt his eyes prickle, his heart beating so fast he felt it drum against his chest, like one last swan’s song before turning a rigid, unmoving muscle-</p><p>Thomas liked to believe he had something akin to a dignity still in place, and he wouldn’t crawl to that human embodiment of a hurricane to beg him to take him back, not when he hadn’t been enough the first time, not when he would have to subject himself to the humiliation of <em> having been found lacking and </em> be once again <em> tossed to the side </em> without him even realising that <em> it kind of was a big deal, </em>not when he’d been explicitly told that he was a fool for believing they had been in for the long run together- he wouldn’t crawl back, not even for the love of his life, because Thomas still had a dignity.</p><p>He felt lightheaded and like his body had been filled with lead all at once, but he didn’t stop, because he had to let it out, because- </p><p>Because he’d be lying if he said he didn’t still <em> long </em> for Alexander’s presence and affection and kisses and snarky remarks- if he said he didn’t still yearn for <em> Alexander. </em></p><p>But it would get better. </p><p>He gripped the bow more tightly, eyes screwed shut and breath completely subjected to the melody and to that ugly twisting painful thing in his chest that tried to fill Alexander’s previous space. </p><p>It <em> had to </em> get better, or he didn’t know how he’d make it out alive this time around.</p><p>Thomas continued to play.</p><p>
  <em> It had to.  </em>
</p><p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>French translations:<br/>Mon ange: my angel<br/>Je t’en prie, mon amour, ton silence me tue: My love, I'm begging you, your silence is killing me<br/>Regarde moi en face quand je te parle: Look at me when I’m talking to you<br/>(No Google Translate and no beta, so all French and English errors and improprieties are mine. Deepest apologies to you all French and English native speakers out there.)</p><p> <br/>I’m... not really sorry?</p><p>Anyway there you go, lovely people, I apologize for the lateness of this thing, writer’s block and life are b i t c h e s, if the stars start helping me out the pace may speed up a little over time- but I don’t guarantee it. </p><p>Anyway, if someone got Very Confused about Alex I totally get it. Yeah folks, I’m rolling with the historical appearance for him- which may or may not have to do with the fact that I absolutely do not have a tiny crush on him- so kinda small and kinda androgynous and red hair and overall Scottish complexion, while I imagine Thomas more like Diggs- but hey, it’s a free world and you should picture them the way you like them, we’re focusing on the angst after all.</p><p>Also, I’m afraid jumping to and fro with the timeline is a thing we’ll do a lot, if something is not clear feel absolutely free to ask me whatevs, talking to my readers makes my day like little else- which means, please, please tell me what you think even if you see this in a post-apocalyptic hypothetical future where we don’t wear masks anymore.<br/>Anyway, I hope you enjoyed!</p><p>(Title from Lord Byron's poem "When we two parted")</p></blockquote></div></div>
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